“I gotta start cleaning up in fifteen minutes… yeah, if you make it quick. I’ll make your coffee and meet you at a table.”

I nod and walk over to a table near the window. I take a seat and moments later, Brenda the barista is joining me with two cups of coffee. She sits across from me. “What do you want to know?”

Most people I talk to are criminals or witnesses and are usually never this forthcoming. It takes me a little off guard, but then again, I remind myself, She thinks I’m a reporter. I pull out a plain pad of paper and a pen.

“Did you know Kelly well?”

“Yeah, we’ve worked together for the past year and a half. I guess I know her in that regard, but not much about her homelife,” she says taking a sip of her coffee. I jot down a couple of notes.

“Had you ever seen Kelly hanging around with any men here?”

“Yeah, occasionally her husband would come in and that Adam guy that’s been in the news. He came here frequently too. I always thought they seemed a bit too friendly. Guess I was right about that.”

“Right… what about anyone else?”

“Not really,” she says.

“Did she ever tell you anything about Scott or Adam?”

“Anytime I’d ask about Adam, or as I knew him ‘the cute writer,’ she’d say he was just a regular.”

“Did she have a lot of regulars?”

“Well, Adam—who I guess wasn’t a regular after all,” she says with a chuckle. I force a laugh to lighten the mood and help to remove myself.

“There was this other guy. I haven’t seen him around in a few days. But if Kelly was working, he was here,” she says nonchalantly taking another sip. “Think he had something to do with this?”

“Not sure. Just trying to report the facts. You said he was always here. What would he do while he was here?”

“Read or draw mostly.”

“And you found that odd or was it just that he always seemed to be here when Kelly was working?”

“He used to ask when she’d be here, but then he got to the point where he wasn’t asking no more, and that’s because he seemed to have memorized her schedule. He was always staring at her. Kelly said he made her uncomfortable and she’d beg for me to take his table.”

“Can you describe him, or do you know his name?”

“I can do you one better.” She gets up from the table and walks to the cash register. She returns a moment later with a receipt.

Brenda slides it in front of me. “Jesse Hook. That’s a copy of his receipt from a few days ago.”

“Can I have this?”

“It’s all yours… do you need my last name for the article?”

“Sure,” I say pocketing the receipt.